Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my broomstick in the corner… and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!

Chapter 7

Best Left Unspoken

(Scene 4)


"In a moment" he replied rudely to the waitress.

"But our cook waits to prepare your meal, monsieur" said the waitress knowing she had to get these two apart.

Draco didn't answer her, and Hermione wasn't about to simply give in to this intimidation.

"-there is still a bit of bread pudding if you like." continued the old lady.

Draco rolled up his other sleeve, tucking it securly and his grey eyes storming.

Hermione folded the Daily Prophet.

The elderly witch step between them and slammed her nobby hip strongly against the table, separating the two of them. "Monsieur Malfoy, it is late, No! we've no trouble here sir." The waitress stop short of that and used her outstretched arm to signal for Draco to continue towards his table where his meal would be waiting. "The pudding is gratuit Monsieur … free of charge," she added hoping this would detour him from a quarrel with one of their dearest customers.

Not here, a tiny little voice came from somewhere inside Hermione's head, Not here it demanded again, poor Crookshanks is ill, he doesn't need this and neither do you. The war is over after all. She reasoned with her inner battle and she held her tongue. Draco struggled to clear his head, and she noticed his anger. Surely this would not end well she thought.

She waited.

A minute passed, two minutes passed, yet there was nothing, no insults as she had anticipated he would deliver, no name calling. Hermione knew he could easily blast her from her seat should he chose to, she had no wand to speak of; it was upstairs in her room, safely locked away. Her breathing became shallow and she lowered her head.

So why isn't he doing that thing Draco does so well, he hasn't seen her in ages, surely he missed destroying her world, her confidence.

But then that unnamable shadow that took nest beneath her table moments ago began to emerged, and took the form of guilt and began to slime its way up her golden spine. Had he even insulted her, or had he only attempted to speak to her on mere common grounds? Her guilt soon gave birth to shame. She had no right to speak to him that way, what had come over her… she wasn't turning into some mean old hag; was she? Alone, with only her cat to care for.

Hermione paused for a moment, and turned to find her old ginger friend still resting safely by the fire side.

However, those same grey eyes were upon her and they had not moved not once as they seemed to barrel into every pore of her skin. Making her feel even more unworthy of her loftiness.

Suddenly it became clear that he was such an unfamiliar wizard to her. How could she expect him to change? When she was just as guilty, unable to graduate from her old ways.

He'd not seen her since that horrible night in his parents' Manor, the night he could hear her screams of pain. He hated the sound of her cries for help, the cries for her life.

There was so much blood when he'd returned with the goblin. Then, out of nowhere came the order for him to kill her. After he'd given so much just to protect her. Bellatrix had continued to torture her for answers. He felt her body give way to the punishment and he himself was so exhausted and drained. Draco had hoped that if he'd retrieved quickly with the goblin as the mad woman had ordered then maybe she would be satisfied.

But no, confirmation from the goblin was not enough; the creature assured her that the sword was a fake, a mere copy.

He didn't have enough sanity left in him to carry with her lifeless eyes sketched into the back of his mind. He didn't want to be a part of the madness anymore. That night, he thought he would lose his mind. The killing needed to stop. Their fear seemed endless and he damned both his parents for everything that was happening to him, damned them, cursed them, calling them so many horrible things. This was also the moment he'd lost days of freedom and his memory ....